


What Happens at Kalamazoo Doesn't Always Stay at Kalamazoo

by BertholdvonMoosburg



Series: Drabbles and Prompts [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Kalamazoo ICMS, M/M, professors au, they're medievalists ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 14:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12559060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BertholdvonMoosburg/pseuds/BertholdvonMoosburg
Summary: Fill for my "100 followers" prompt day. Anon requested "victuuri they're both teachers" and this is what happened.





	What Happens at Kalamazoo Doesn't Always Stay at Kalamazoo

Victor Nikiforov, professor of medieval Arabic mathematics, stretched and groaned. He ached all over. He turned to roll over and fell out of bed onto a cold, hard, unforgiving floor.

He groaned again, and another groan answered him from the dorm bed on the other side of the tiny room.  _ Fuck _ .

Sunday mornings were always the worst at this conference. After the mead and ale tasting Saturday afternoon, everything got blurry. He had memories of a dark-haired beauty sweeping him onto the dance floor at the dance and a lot of cheering. And a feeling of happiness that he hadn’t felt at this horrible conference in  _ years _ .

At least he didn’t get stuck with one of the shitty Sunday time slots and could nurse his hangover in peace. Or he could, if he wasn’t in the shitty fucking dorms somehow. He rubbed his temples and imagined he was back in his nice comfy hotel room that his university paid for.

The other person groaned again and sat up. Victor cracked an eye just in time to see his face turn white, followed by a blur as he bolted to the bathroom and locked the door.

When ten minutes had passed, Victor staggered to the door and knocked. “You okay in there?”

There was no answer.

He knocked again after another ten minutes, to no reply again. His bladder was starting to demand his attention urgently, so he left his card on the desk and knocked a final time on the bathroom door. “I need to find a washroom and clean up! I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit to make sure you’re okay. I had a great time at the dance with you, thanks for letting me crash here! Maybe we can meet up for lunch before we leave?” 

He frowned when there was still no answer. Sighing, he picked up his jacket from the floor and was about to grasp the doorknob when the door swung open to reveal a slender young Asian gentleman, who yelped in surprise. 

“Dr Nikiforov! You scared me! What are you doing here?”

“I woke up here. Must have been some dance. Is this your room too?”

He nodded. “Phichit Chulanont. I’m a postdoc. I’m sharing this room.”

Victor sighed in relief. “Oh good. I think your roommate might be passed out in the bathroom. I’ve been knocking but there’s no answer. I have to go find a bathroom myself and shower, and I didn’t want to leave him.”

Chulanont grinned. “I’ll look after him. We’ve been to a lot of conferences together. He’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“Alright, thanks. I’m sorry, but I  _ really  _ need to run now. I’ll see you around!”

As the door swung shut behind him, he heard a series of loud thumps, like a foot kicking a cheap dorm bathroom door. Muffled shouts of “Yuuri! You brought  _ the  _ Doctor Victor Nikiforov back to our room! And you didn’t text me!” were distinctly audible. Victor chuckled. He was used to fans, such as they were. Rhodes scholarship at 20 and full professorship and two monographs by age 27 meant he was easily recognised by those in the field. But last night had been  _ fun _ , fun in a way he wasn’t used to. He’d danced and laughed and for a few hours just been… Victor. He smiled to himself and hurried down the hall to find the bathroom he needed so badly.

He didn’t see his adorable dance partner all morning, or at lunch. His gruff department chair, Yakov Feltsman, yelled at him as he packed, saying he’d have to pay for rebooking their flights if they missed boarding because of him. Yakov’s protegé, a young PhD student named Yuri, alternated between boredom and smugness.

Victor moped all the way home. Halfway through the flight, he sat bolt upright and grabbed Dr Feltsman’s arm, jolting him out of a sound sleep.  _ “I didn’t get his name!” _ Victor cried. Yuri, seated behind him, whacked him on the head.

“Shut up, moron, and let everyone else sleep. The whole plane doesn’t need to hear about your latest stupid fling.”

And Victor couldn’t do anything but slump back into his seat and vow to comb the conference program for any hints. He hoped against hope that the man would contact him instead.

Back home, his search turned up nothing. He managed to locate Chulanont’s faculty page and website, but he couldn’t find any reference to the  _ danseur  _ who’d made him laugh so freely. His inbox remained empty save for student inquires and library notifications.

It was nearing autumn when Victor finally found him. Chris, a friend from their grad student days, forwarded him a video titled “Professor Katsuki practices lecture styles”. It had only a handful of hits and he could only imagine where Chris had stumbled across it, but  _ there he was _ .  The dark-haired dancing beauty from Kalamazoo! And holy shit, he was delivering Victor’s Kalamazoo lecture verbatim! Victor clicked through to his faculty page immediately. Dr. Yuuri Katsuki, assistant professor at Wayne State! His list of publications and awards was impressive! And then Victor’s eyes sparkled. He knew what he had to do.

“Yakov!” The elderly man didn’t flinch, just opened his desk drawer and pulled out his flask as the door to his office slammed open. “I’m taking that sabbatical! I’ll see you in a year! I’ve given the paperwork to your secretary!” And he was gone.

 

In Detroit, Dr. Katsuki trudged through the quad to his department’s building. His office was tiny and cozy, and he could close the door and pretend he wasn’t there. His students loved him and he’d gotten a few things published, but he doubted it would be enough to convince the tenure review panel to recommend him. There were so many more accomplished scholars out there. He was just another dime-a-dozen medievalist with a boring specialty. Not like  _ Dr Nikiforov _ .

He shifted his books into his other arm and pulled out his key. Pushing open the door, Yuuri flicked the lightswitch that was already on and looked up. He dropped his books with a scream and a clatter.

“Yuuri! Dr. Katsuki!” an all too familiar voice boomed cheerfully. “Starting today I’m going to be your mentor! I’m going to get you tenure, Yuuri!”

**Author's Note:**

> Sabbatical does not work like this. Do not attempt to go on sabbatical like Victor.
> 
> Those WMU dorm rooms are _shitty_.


End file.
